My Best Friend's Life Teaser
by Banana101
Summary: Hermione's life was turned upside down after the war, she tries to turn it right way up. DH compliant to Battle, AU, OOC and OC. Please review and tell me if you want me to write it or not.


**Title: **My Best Friend's Life**  
Author:** Banana101  
**Rating:** M  
**Content Warning:** Swearing, sexual content, nudity, alcohol consumption, gambling.  
**Spoilers:** Entire Harry Potter Series and Hana Yori Dango  
**Disclaimer:** You know what, I wish I could own either of these series, they are just amazing. If I was that original (and good), I wouldn't be stuck here writing fan fiction, but sadly I am not. If you do happen to see anything which is the slightest bit original, I will have to admit to putting it in there. Anything else, if I even thought about claiming it, you would all come down on me like... well very scarily and I would run away screaming like the little girl I am inside.  
**Author's Note: **This is a Dramione fic, but it has a basic plotline that I have stolen from the anime (and TV series) Hana Yori Dango. Some of the characters may seem a bit OOC at times, but I promise I have done it on purpose. I realise that this story may seem very similar to other stories but I promise you that I have been intending to write this for a while but this is my first opportunity. This will just be a teaser to see if people like it, if you don't then I won't bother trying to write it.** Please review as it makes us as writers feel better and want to write more.**

I paced back and forth in front of her grave. What the hell was I supposed to do? I mean, here was proof that everyone in the world had given up on her.

Her grave, it was decorated with a weeping angel. The kind with their heads in their hands, their wings furled closely against their human like bodies. It didn't suit her, not that I was surprised, her father had it especially made for the grave. She had told about how he had repeatedly forgotten her name, insisting on calling her 'daughter' and only that. An angel about to take flight would have been better for her 'grave', its head held high and a look of joy upon its face.

"Beloved Daughter and a Friend to all,  
Calypso Hipworth,  
13th of February, 1980 to 2nd of May, 1998"

The words were inscribed in the plaque below the inappropriately-chosen weeping angel.

I wanted to hit something, I mean really wanted to slam fist into something and feel the sickening yet gratifying crunch as the thing broke underneath it. Maybe I could go and... and what tell Ron how annoyed I am?

Yes, that would go over splendidly.

"Hi Ron, how's life? Guess what? One of my best friend's is dead and no gives a damn that I could save her. Or, for that matter you," I pronounced out loud, still pacing.

"Surely you, know-it-all, know that speaking to yourself is a sign of madness," it was a quiet voice that somehow held a power that made you do what they wanted you to. I knew the voice, though I had only heard it once before. It had come from behind me, right over _her_ grave actually.

"Of course I know," I replied and refused to turn to where it had come from.

"Well, then it is official, you are _not_ mad," the voice stage whispered to me.

"What?" I spun around to see her floating just over her grave. She was dressed in her school uniform, the Ravenclaw badge clearly shown, albeit uncoloured. Her hair was in its usual disarray, dark colours under eyes showed signs of her narcolepsy and she had rather nasty cuts on her eyebrow and her lip. She slowly came towards me, which was disconcerting because her feet didn't actually move.

My best friend is a ghost.

I was overwhelmed by my feelings of guilt. It had been my fault that she was dead. I had left her, simply to learn that someone else who I loved was dead. It had all been my fault, if I had been faster, been smarter they would all still be alive.

"Well," her reasonable, clear voice cut through my turmoil, "a mad person does not know that they are mad. While a sane person will understand that they are going mad and that makes them sane,"

"That doesn't make any sense," I tried to say logically say to her, but I couldn't help but laugh at her face as she frowned as though she was trying to remember something.

"It is perfect chaos which makes it perfect sense," she smiled sneakily at me, with a look like that she would have made it in Slytherin. Though, I had to admit that she had all the characteristics of a Ravenclaw; wit, learning and intelligence, she was one of the rare people who had traits from each house. She was cunning and resourceful like a Slytherin, yet brave like a Gryffindor, while still possessing Hufflepuff's signatory patience and loyalty.

"You confuse me," I told her honestly.

"I confuse you? How do you think I feel; the shit I speak comes out of my mouth?"

"True," I replied slowly. For a moment it had been like we were back to usual bantering. Of course that had always happened over long distance and I hardly ever understood her twisted Australian humour. But only for a moment, because now we were back in the present. The present were she was dead, along with hundreds of other people. People who could be saved, saved by me.

If I could just get my hands on a time-turner, then all those deaths would never happen.

"You can't do it," she told me softly. She still had her ability to read my mind, the one that she had used endlessly against me.

"Do what?" I feigned innocence.

"Go back in time and make it so we never die," she said simply, as though she was reciting a line from a textbook.

"Who is we?" I tried to distract her.

"Myself, Luna, Ron, Seamus, Ginny, the Patil twins, Charlie, Fred, Percy, Mr. Weasley, Tonks, Lupin, Mad-Eye, Snape, McGonagall and so many others whose deaths you mourn. You can't do it, Hermione," she was almost begging me with her eyes. Her sadly un-coloured eyes. They used to be an unnatural amber in colour, though she continually charmed them to be brown so she wouldn't end up being stared at.

"I have to something, Cal, I lost everyone." I wanted to tell her everything but I couldn't, not yet.

"'Mione, if you do this you could make it all worse. You could make it so they win," she persisted in trying to reason with me, but I had made up my mind. And if there is one thing that I am known for it is my stubbornness.

I turned to leave and I felt her ghost hand pass through my shoulder. It was as though she had gone to grab me but she had forgotten about the side effects of being a ghost.

"Hermione, please," Her Australian accent became predominant, as though before she had been holding it back.

"_Eiecius spiritus_," I spoke, not bothering to get my wand. I had been proficient at wandless for years now. It was a banishing spell, one I had designed particularly for use against Peeves.

I sped my way through the rest of the graveyard. I nearly missed the silent figure standing at the head of another freshly dug grave. They were dressed in long, flowing robes that swirled around them in the gentle breeze. I was right in front of them when I realised that they weren't actually a statue of some kind.

"Hello?" I called to them. They looked up at me, the hood of their robes slipping down to reveal not only the gender of the person but their identity.

His black hair styled in some weird fashion that had brushed it all into his eyes. Those haunting crystal blue eyes, the dark recesses of them seemed to draw me in, as though he knew something that I didn't. His nose was pointed, his thin lips had the corners turned down in a brooding look that he had been famous for. His lean body was now clearly outlined as the wind became stronger and the robes swirled more tightly around him.

"Piss off, Granger," he slurred. He was clearly drunk; the wind brought to my nose the smell of alcohol.

"Theodore Nott, is that any way to speak to someone who was your friend?" I demanded.

"You're no friend, Granger. You _were_ an acquaintance who liked me and _now_ you are the reason my friends are dead, so go piss someone else off," he could hardly stand up as he started walking away from me.

I let him.

His words had stung, like a slap across the face. I had always treated him with respect and he had done the same for me, even though I was a muggle born as his 'friends' were so insistent on reminding me.

I looked at the grave he had been in front of.

"Draco Malfoy,  
5th of June, 1980 to 2nd of May, 1998  
A casualty of a war that was forced on us by our father's  
Hope it's nice there, mate,"

Draco was dead?

When had that happened? Tears stung my eyes. Another casualty of a stupid war that was only fought because one man went insane.

_What am I doing?_ _Am I actually crying for Draco Malfoy, the boy who had tormented for nearly all of my schooling?_

Yes, I am. It hurt me more to know that I had cost someone else their life.

I ran then, I ran away from all the pain, all the sadness. I kept running, where I was actually going I don't know but I just had to keep moving for fear that it would all catch up to me.


End file.
